To make light of the rest, if the rose be not there;
And the world is so rich in resplendent eyes,
'T were a pity to limit one's love to a pair.
"I never saw a prettier sight in my life," cried Cecil, as she stood with a motley group in the verandah of "The Maples," the rendezvous of the sleighing party. As each sleigh turned in at the gate and deposited its freight, it fell into rank which extended all round the lawn, till scarcely a space was left on the drive that encircled it, and the air rang with the bells on the nodding horses' heads.
"What the—blazes!" ejaculated Bertie, as Mr. Vavasour rounded the corner at a trot in a red-wheeled tandem, scarlet plumes on the horses, and the robes a combination of black bear-skins and scarlet trimming. The leader, a recent importation from England, better acquainted with the hunting-field than the traces, reared straight on end; but a judicious flick on her ear sent her with a bound almost into the next sleigh, and the tandem drew up at the hall door to an inch.
"Post? mail-cart? nonsense!" said Jack, shaking hands all round 'mid an avalanche of chaff. "Nice cheerful colour for a cold day; that's all."
"Quite scorching," said Major Fane. "Well, Miss Rolleston, if they leave us behind at the turnpikes, we shall never lose sight of them with Jack's flames for a beacon."
"How do you like your tandem, Bluebell?" asked Cecil, "and how far do you expect to get before Mr. Vavasour upsets you?" added she, sotto voce.
"I don't care if he chooses a good place," laughed Bluebell.
"Why, I thought Bertie wasn't going," said, Mrs. Rolleston, as that individual drove up in a modest cutter with a gentleman companion.
"I think he changed his mind when he heard Miss Kendal was going with papa," said Cecil.
"I believe we are all here," said Colonel Rolleston, who was to lead the procession, coming out with the great lady of the party, an eccentric dowager peeress, who having "tired her wing" with flying through the States, was now perching awhile before re-crossing the Herring-pond. Miss Kendal and a subaltern, pressed into the service, placed themselves in the back seat, well smothered in wolf-skins, and the first sleigh moved off to the admiration of the school-room party at the window, who, with the partiality of childhood, thought their papa's the most beautiful turn-out in the city.
"Mr. Vavasour's horse is up the bank," screamed Fleda. "How much better papa drives; he went off so quickly and quietly. I wouldn't be Bluebell! Mr. Vavasour can hardly get out at the gate."
"If papa had to drive one horse before another, perhaps he couldn't either," said Lola, who had been watching with great interest the erratic course of Jack's leader.
Twenty sleighs were off in a string, the crowd cheering them to the echo as they dashed through Queen's Park; but on gaining Carleton Street they were obliged carefully to keep the track, as the sides of the road were deep and treacherous.
"The Colonel is making the pace very slow," remarked Mr. Vavasour; "like to drive, Miss Leigh? they are going very smoothly."
Bluebell, whose knowledge of horses was about equal to her opportunities of instruction, unhesitatingly assented. Jack's gratification thereat was somewhat tempered, when he saw the bewilderment apparent in his flighty pair at the very original manner in which she handled her "lines."
"I suppose," said that young lady, with the composure of ignorance, "we are all right as long as this bald-face horse keeps its nose pointing at Captain Delamere's back."
"Quite so," said Jack, cheerily; "don't take the whip, you are only winding it round your own neck. I'll give Dahlia a lick in the face if she turns out of the rank."
They were winding down a hill, and took a road at the bottom at right angles to it. Colonel Rolleston, in the first sleigh, was blandly pointing out to Lady Hampshire the coup d'oeil of the whole procession as they described two sides of a triangle.
"Do you like my plumes?" asked Jack, relaxing his surveillance on Dahlia, as her left ear, which had been laid back in a suggestive manner, resumed its accustomed position.
"Like them," echoed Bluebell; "it's just like a hearse, bar the colour, which is frightful. I wouldn't have come if I had known I was to be driven in such a fire-engine."
"There now," rather crest-fallen. "I chose them because you said you were fond of scarlet, otherwise I should have preferred blue, except that I might have been taken for one of the 10th, who mount their regimental colours on everything."
"I like the 10th," said Bluebell, perversely; "they are all good-looking except the Adjutant, who got his nose sliced off by a Sikh, and the.... goodness what's that?" as a fearful shout, followed by a sudden checking of horses, brought the whole line to a stand-still.
"What's the matter?" was passed from one sleigh to another up to the front: the return message, shouted and taken up as each one interpreted it, became soon about as intelligible as it does in the game of Russian scandal, and for the next few minutes everybody was conjecturing at once.
"Here's Du Meresq," cried Jack, as Bertie came ploughing through the snow.
"Halloa, guard! what's wrong on the line?"
"Run into a goods' train," said he, keeping on his course to the Vice-President's sleigh.
"Du Meresq never tells one anything," said Jack; "I hate a mysterious fellow; somebody's capsized, I suppose, and he's gone for some brandy."
"Perhaps for a shovel," suggested Bluebell. "Colonel Rolleston may have come to a drift."
"Don't see how we are to reverse our engine," replied Jack, looking each side of the road, where the snow was piled four or five feet.
Bertie, however, had not gone for a shovel, which would have been perfectly useless, but to explain the situation and assist in turning round the sleighs. In front of Colonel Rolleston was a huge rampart of snow, extending for some distance. The wind setting dead in that direction, had drifted it across, and buried the track several feet. This road had been clear the day before, for Bertie and Cecil had driven it to ascertain, but the wind had changed and snow fallen during the night.
Major Fane's sleigh was successfully turned, after a great deal of assistance to the horses, who floundered up to their shoulders; and to this haven of refuge Du Meresq was conducting several young ladies, for each sleigh having to turn on the spot where their progress was arrested, a certain number of upsets was inevitable.
"Come, Miss Leigh," said a voice beneath her, "you mustn't stick to the ship any longer. Why, this is the worst bit of all. You can't jump; trust to me." And to Jack's indignation, Bertie lifted her from the wheel and carried her through some deep snow to a dry place. There was a certain amount of excuse for it, as he couldn't have deposited her in the drift, and turning the tandem took up its owner's whole attention, and the services of three or four volunteers; but he fancied Du Meresq had squeezed the little hand before he relinquished it, and ere the tell-tale blush had passed from Bluebell's face, Jack had turned, jumped out and replaced her in the tandem with quiet decision.
Bluebell, confused by the powerless way she had been handed about between her two admirers, could not rally directly, and sat meditating an early snubbing for Jack, but a ridiculous incident soon distracted her attention.
"Get out? No, thank you, Captain Du Meresq," cried Lilla Tremaine, a tall, handsome girl in the sleigh behind; "you'd find me a precious weight to carry, and I am very comfortable where I am. Turn away, Captain Delamere, we'll sink or swim together."
Thus urged, the individual called on made his effort; the sleigh turned, indeed, but on its side, and the adventurous Miss Tremaine, summarily ejected, sank to her waist in the deep snow, her crinoline rising as she descended, spread out under her arms, looking like an inverted umbrella. Jack and Bluebell were suffocating with the laughter they vainly tried to hide, and Bertie, who was on foot, took in the situation at once, and rushed to the rescue.
"Put your arms round my neck, Miss Tremaine," cried he, peremptorily.
The poor girl, half crying with shame and cold, did so, and Du Meresq, grasping her firmly round the waist, endeavoured to drag her forth.
"It's even betting she pulls him in," cried Jack, in a most unfeeling ecstasy, for Miss Tremaine was no pocket Venus—rather answered the Irishman's description of "an armful of joy."
"Oh, dear!" said poor Lilla, trembling with cold, as she found herself on terra firma, "I never can go on; the snow has made me quite wet through."
"Of course you can't," said Bertie, decidedly; "you'd catch your death of cold. Delamere, you drive on with the other Miss Tremaine," for they had both been in his sleigh, "and I'll take Miss Lilla home in my cutter, where she can get dry clothes. You must all pass their house on your way back, when we can fall in again; so that's all settled. Oh, Meredith, I forgot you. Hitch on to some other sleigh, there's a good fellow. I am on ambulance duty; somebody tell Colonel Rolleston—presently."
Then Bertie, who had his own reasons for hurrying, placed Miss Tremaine, still shivering from her snow bath, in the cutter, and drove rapidly off.
"Well, I am d——d," muttered Captain Delamere to Vavasour; "she has never seen the fellow before!"
"Hush, pray," said Jack, affectedly; "he is an officious young man. But be thankful for small mercies, old boy; you have got one left."
"That's the wrong one," growled Delamere.
After a brief consultation about the route, a unanimous vote for luncheon was passed, so they drove on till they came to an open space, the contrary side of the wood in which Du Meresq and Bluebell had walked on Sunday. Here all the sleighs formed up together, and Major Fane's larder was ransacked.
Curaçoa, mulled claret, hot coffee, etc., kept warm in a blanket, were passed round, with mutton pies, croquettes, cakes and other edibles; and circulation being restored, all was mirth and hilarity.
Colonel Rolleston alone remained dark and moody. He had just discovered the defection of Du Meresq and Lilla, and, having his own opinion of his brother-in-law, disapproved of it entirely. Miss Tremaine also was much too flighty for his taste, and he was very hard on Captain Delamere for not applying to him to get her decorously out of her delicate dilemma.
He made up his mind to curtail the drive, and call at Mr. Tremaine's at his earliest convenience.
Bertie, in the meantime, delighted at getting a tête-à-tête with a handsome girl, instead of driving in a monotonous string with Mr. Meredith, proceeded to improve the occasion with such success that his fair companion forgot her wet stockings, and even omitted to observe that they had passed the turn leading to the paternal abode.
When she did remark it, Bertie easily persuaded her that she must be quite dry now, and that, as they had missed the garrison drive, they had better take one on their own account. Miss Lilla, unrestrained by the detective eyes of her elder sister, was ripe for any frolic, and Bertie certainly did not find so many obstacles in the way of an affectionate flirtation as he had with Bluebell.
But our business is with the trans-Atlantic picnic in the snow, not with the "cutting out" expedition of this reprobate pair. Having distributed the remainder of the luncheon to the servants, a start was again effected. Lilla's adventure had left its impression one way or another on two or three of the party. Jack was delighted that Du Meresq was off on a fresh pursuit, and so not likely to be hanging about Bluebell; and that damsel was trying, by a reckless flirtation with Vavasour, to stifle the vexatious conviction that Bertie had only been making a fool of her on Sunday, and was now probably repeating the same game with Miss Tremaine. Yet at this period her vanity was more wounded than her heart; very different from poor Cecil, whose infatuation was of older date, and not the mere result of a few flattering speeches.
For a girl of her disposition to set her affections on a man like Bertie was certain misery. She had no rivals in those days when she learnt to care so intensely for the sympathetic companion who understood her so much better than any one else. He understood her; therein was the potent charm; her mind awoke and her ideas vivified from contact with his, as two happily-contrasted colours become brighter in hue in juxtaposition. No companion had ever suited her so perfectly, and yet Bertie had scarcely made direct love to her. It seemed a matter of course that they should care most for each other, and Cecil's young and ardent heart had drifted beyond recall ere she had done more than suspect another side to his character.
Now she perceived that Bertie's affection for her by no means made him insensible to the bright eyes of the fair Canadians; yet the more she cared for his philandering interludes with other girls the less she showed it, except that her manner grew colder, though, unfortunately, her heart did not.
Major Fane was disappointed with Cecil's preoccupied mood. He had taken some pains to secure her for this drive, and she hadn't a word to say to him. He certainly admired her, but, perhaps, it was more his horror of Canadian girls that had made her his choice for the day. He always said their only idea of conversation was chaff, and rudeness under cover of it; and as he had been the victim of many such "smart" speeches, he looked upon them with nervous aversion.
The quiet repose of a lady-like English girl gained by the contrast. There was rather too much tranquillity to-day, perhaps; so he exerted some tact to draw Cecil from her reserve, the cause of which he was unable to guess. He agreed with her in reviling the monotony and stupidity of sleighing picnics, having to follow one by one like a string of geese, long after one was perished with cold, though he failed to detect in her weariness that she was wishing for her father to stop at the Tremaines', and annex the truant sleigh to the rest.
Her discontent somewhat relieved by expression, she became ashamed of her unsociability, and Major Fane's next topic was not uncongenial. He was airing his cherished grudge, and pronouncing a severe philippic on the belles of the Dominion. Cecil was incapable of detraction, or envy at another's greater success; but in the face of Bertie's abduction of Lilla before her eyes, she did not feel particularly in charity with any daughter of Canada.
In the meantime Bluebell, in the strangest of spirits, refused to relinquish the reins, even in difficult places, and conducted herself generally with a mixture of recklessness and ignorance that gave Jack enough to do to look out.
He rather took advantage of this mood to make more decided love than he had hitherto done; but while he thought her wild with fun and spirits, she was really goaded on by vexation and bitterness of heart; and perhaps her most immediate wish was for solitude to drop the mask and be miserable in peace.
That was impossible, at present. Jack was tiresome. He was giving her directions how to steer up a hill, formidable from its narrow track and deep drop on either side. Dahlia, it seemed, jibbed sometimes, she must—Bluebell was paying no attention. Good Heavens! what was happening?—the leader backing and sliding! Jack's stinging whip and clutch at the reins could not arrest the catastrophe. Dahlia rears and falls over the edge, pulling sleigh and wheeler after her into a trough of snow.
Bluebell blinded and half suffocated—no wonder, for three bear-skins and two cushions were a-top of her (not to mention Jack, who had caught his leg in the reins, and was unable immediately to rise),—made vain efforts to extricate himself; the horses were struggling on their sides; and altogether, as the Americans say, it was rather "mixed."
Somehow or another, no one ever does get hurt out of a sleigh, even after an impromptu header of a dozen feet. Ten minutes later the party were en route again, Bluebell transferred, en pénitence, to Colonel Rolleston's sleigh, vice the subaltern; and by this time nearly every one was discontented and anxious to return.
CHAPTER VIII.
FIXING UP A PRANCE.
The valse, the quadrille, and the song,
The whispered farewell of the lover;
The heartless adieu of the throng,
The heart that was throbbing with pleasure;
The eyelid that longed for repose,
The beaux that were dreaming of treasure.
The girls that were dreaming of beaux."
Before they got to the Tremaines' house, Bertie drove up with Miss Lilla, who was "quite dry now, thank you; not worth while bringing all the sleighs up to the door." More than one curious observer noticed the panting flanks of the horse, who scarcely looked as if he had been resting in a stable. To be sure, the delinquents had done that last mile rather fast, to nick in and meet the party before they should make inconvenient inquiries at Mr. Tremaine's,—Bertie, who was as good a mimic as his mother, enhancing the fright of his fair companion by an improvisation of the scene that would probably take place supposing they were too late to prevent it, and further convulsing her with a travesty of his brother-in-law in his most imposing attitude of stately displeasure.
Lilla nearly had a relapse when they met the rest, as Colonel Rolleston's face was the faithful reproduction of Bertie's five minutes before; but the ironical silence with which he received her speech, rather diminished their triumph at having escaped detection. The girls were all to return to "The Maples," dress there, and go to the dinner and dance at the barracks, under Mrs. Rolleston's sole chaperonage.
The scrambling toilette was got through with much noise and merriment.
"Oh, has any one seen my 'waist'?" and "Do smooth my waterfall," were enigmatical exclamations of frequent occurrence. Cecil's dormitory resembled a milliner's show-room from the variety of dresses spread on the bed.
These were not of a very extravagant description; papery pink or green silk seemed most in vogue, completed with rows of beads round the throat; but when viewed in connexion with the apple-blossom complexions, abundant hair and dancing eyes of the Canadian belles, the adventitious aids of dress might well be deemed as superfluous as painting the lily.
Half-a dozen covered sleighs, going and returning, transported the party to the barracks, where, escorted by their military hosts, they ascended the staircase, banked with evergreens, and lined by motionless soldiers to the ante-room, which, of course, looked as unattractive as the cordial but mistaken exertions of its proprietors could make it—all the laissez-aller comfort primly tidied away, and such a roasting fire as speedily drove every one to remote corners of the room.
The mauvais quart d'heure before dinner had the usual sobering effect, and young people, who later on would be valsing together on the easiest of terms, now shyly looked over photograph books, and discoursed with an edifying amount of diffidence and respect. Each one was to go in to dinner with his companion of the sleigh—an arrangement of questionable wisdom, and, as Bertie said, "It behoved one to be doubly careful whom one drove." Captain Delamere was furious, for, when he claimed Lilla, she calmly replied, "That having taken them both, she of course supposed he would ask her elder sister, and, therefore, had promised Captain Du Meresq."
Before Delamere had done anathematizing his folly in giving the saucy Lilla such a loop-hole to throw him over, the trumpet sounded, folding doors opened, and fifty people sat down to the cheery repast.
The table was bright with regimental plate, racing cups, and hot-house flowers. The band commenced playing "Selections," somewhat deafening, perhaps, but then it was too cold to put them out of doors.
Cecil and Bluebell were neither of them too much gratified at witnessing the furious flirtation going on at dinner between Captain Du Meresq and Miss Tremaine; but Cecil, who never looked at them, and therefore, of course, saw everything, fancied the admiration most on the lady's side, and even some of her oeillades, bravado. To be sure Bertie never did flirt seriously en évidence, if he could help it.
Bluebell, completely out of sorts, was acquiring a painful experience. Du Meresq's conduct seemed inexplicable and provoking as she pondered indignantly on her walk at the Humber, and mentally ejaculated with Miss Squeers, "Is this the hend?"
Jack, temporarily discouraged by her indifference to himself, which came on rather rapidly at dinner, gave his next neighbour the benefit of his conversation.
But this unsatisfactory repast to our heroines was not unnecessarily prolonged, the mess-room having to be cleared for the great business of the evening, which, let us hope will prove what it is sure to be called in next day's discussion "a very good ball."
Why this undescriptive phrase should be applied to every well-attended dance, with a supper, has always perplexed us; for, of course, every one really judges it by his or her own personal success and enjoyment, not unfrequently incompatible with that of some one else. Yet it is all summed up next morning in the summary verdict "good," or "bad." If there is a deficiency of gentlemen, space, supper, or ton, the latter; but given these indispensables, you may have been jilted for your bosom friend by your latest conquest, yet you must come up smiling, and endorse the public panegyric on the hated evening till the subject be superseded.
Bluebell, a few weeks ago, would have looked upon this ball as the acme of delight. She was in great request, and, indeed, attained that highest object of young lady ambition, being belle of the evening; but now her happiness did not depend on the many—dance after dance passed, and the only partner she cared for had not once engaged her.
Bertie had been sitting out half the evening with Lilla in a conservatory, and when they did emerge, was seized on by his brother-in-law with very black looks, and introduced to a somewhat unappreciated young lady.
Bertie had the happy knack of appearing equally charmed, whether presented to a beauty or the reverse; but he inscribed himself very low down on her card, remorselessly ignoring the intervening blanks, and then approached Cecil, who, in black and amber, was the most striking-looking girl in the room. Though inferior in beauty to many, her fine figure and expressive eyes could never pass unnoticed.
"Dear little Cecil, how well she is looking!" thought he, facilely forgetting his latest flame, and just becoming sensible of her "altered eye."
"My niece," said Bertie, in a theatrical tone, intended to disguise his perception of it, "shall we tread a measure? Let me lead you forth into the mazy dance."
"Excuse me, Bertie," said Cecil, languidly; "I am only going to dance the two or three round ones I am engaged for, and I know you do not care for square."
"I should think not," said he angrily, "when you are going to dance round ones with other fellows."
"You see you asked too late," said she, indifferently.
"Will you go in to supper with me then?"
"That was all arranged and written down ages ago. Let me see, I am ticketed for the Major again."
"As you have been all day. I never saw such a cut and-dried, monotonous programme for a party: all done by rule—no freedom of action."
"Really, Bertie, you and Miss Tremaine can't complain."
"That's why you are so cold to me to-night, Cecil," said Du Meresq, quietly.
"What can it signify to me?" retorted she, freezingly, vexed at having permitted the adversary, so to speak, to discover the joint in her harness. Her partner, who had been hovering near, now claimed and bore her unwillingly away, for next to being friends with Bertie was the pleasure of "riling" him by smiling icyness. It was the only weapon she permitted herself, as she would not condescend to any visible sign of jealousy or pique.
Bertie was simply gêné by her determination to be all or nothing; there was no satisfying such an unreasonable girl. Like the immortal Lilyvick, "he loved them all," yet her thoughtful mind and gentle companionship were becoming more to him than he was himself aware of.
Cecil, valsing round, looked at each turn for his tall figure leaning against the wall. It was an abstracted attitude, and he seemed graver than usual.
"Had she made him unhappy?"—she trusted so—would give the world to read his thoughts.
Some one said, "There is no punishment equal to a granted prayer." Du Meresq was wrapt in speculation as to whether they had really succeeded in getting a wild turkey for supper, which the Mess President was in maddening doubt about the day before.
That blissful moment was at hand, and the room thinned with a celerity born of ennui, I suppose, for very few people are really hungry, yet it is the invariable signal for as simultaneous a rush as of starving paupers when the door of a soup kitchen is opened. To be sure, there are the chaperones, poor things, round whom no "lovers are sighing," and, perhaps, supper is the liveliest time to them—old gentlemen, too, might be allowed some indulgence; but what can be said for dancing men, wasting the precious moments of their partners, while they linger congregated together among the débris and champagne-corks?
"What a clearance," said Bluebell, subsiding, with a fagged air, on to a sofa, as her partner bowed himself off with an eye to business.
"Forward the heavy brigade," said Bertie, motioning to his brother-in-law bearing off Lady Hampshire; "only room for thirty at a time. We must wait, Miss Leigh."
"I am ready to wait. But what have 'we' got to say to it?" said Bluebell, with her Canadian directness.
"Don't speak so unkindly," said Bertie, sentimentally, flinging himself on the sofa by her side. "You don't know all I have suffered this week."
"You certainly disguised it very well," said the girl, with total disbelief in her eyes.
"Do you think I felt nothing when I saw you all day with Vavasour, who every one knows is madly in love with you; and then dancing every dance—not leaving a corner in your programme for me?"
"You didn't ask me," said Bluebell, less austerely.
"No, for you never so much as looked my way. Besides, Bluebell, I told you we must be careful. If Colonel Rolleston guessed my feelings for you—he is so selfish, he forgets he has been young himself—I should be no longer welcome here."
"Then, I am sure," said Bluebell, the tears rushing to her eyes, "I wish you had never come. I have been miserable ever since I took that stupid walk, which you prevented my mentioning; and—and—"
"Let's be miserable again next Sunday, Bluebell," whispered Bertie.
"I shall not go home; or, if I do, I'll stop there. I'll never walk with you again, Captain Du Meresq."
"'Quoth the raven, "never more!"' I know what it is, you are tired to death. Sit still on the sofa and I will bring you some supper; sleighing all day and dancing all night have distorted your mental vision,"—and Bertie dashed off, passing the young lady he was engaged to on his way to the supper room, with an inward conviction that their dance must be about due. Having possessed himself of a modicum of prairie hen, he intercepted a tumbler of champagne cup just being handed across the table to Captain Delamere.
"Confound it, that's mine!" said the aggrieved individual.
"I want it for a lady," urged Bertie.
"So do I," said Delamere.
"My dear fellow," said Bertie, chaffingly, nodding towards a gorgeous American, "it is for Mrs. Commissioner Duloe. She must not be kept waiting."
"I won't allow my lady to be second to any lady in the room," cried Delamere who was elevated.
Bertie was in too great a hurry to chaff Delamere any longer, for, perceiving that his relatives were safely at supper, he resolved to make the most of the few minutes at his disposal, and, as he would have expressed it, "lay it on thick."
Bluebell was leaning languidly back on the sofa, watching the forms of the dancers, ever revolving past the open door to the strains of a heart-broken valse. (En passant, why are the prettiest valses all plaintive and despairing, quadrilles and lancers cheerful and jiggy, and galops reckless, not to say tipsy?)
Bertie, with his spoils, was by her side, and, having restored her nerves with champagne, proceeded to agitate them again with the warmest protestations of affection. The child with the day's experience before her, only half-believed him, but the spirit of coquetry woke up, and she resolved to try and make him care for her as much as he pretended to do.
But Bluebell was trying her 'prentice hand with a veteran in such warfare.
They were alone in the little room, in one adjoining a few people were sitting.
"I wish that girl would not watch us so," said Bluebell, indicating one apparently deep in a photograph book, under cover of which she was furtively observing them.
"Oh," said Bertie, with a groan, "she's been following me about ever since I asked her for a dance six off. I hope it is over."
"I dare say she's very angry at being left sitting out," said Bluebell. "I am sure I should be."
"Ah," said Bertie, "your experience will be all the other way—it's us poor fellows who will be thrown over, besides, she shouldn't have got introduced to me. I saw her going on the wrong leg and all out of step, and Jack Vavasour says she's a regular stick-in-the-mud to talk to."
A stream now issued from the supper room, and Mr. Vavasour, bowing himself free from a "comfortable" looking matron, hurried up.
"Our dance, Miss Leigh. I thought I should never be in time. She was twenty minutes at the chicken and lobster-salad, and then went in for sweets."
"I must go and give my girl a turn, I suppose," whispered Bertie. "She's guarding the outposts so no chance of giving her the slip. She'd go raging off to the Colonel. Just like him, letting one in for such a real bad thing."
A few sleighs were beginning to jingle up, but most of the girls assumed moccasins, clouds, and furs, and kilting their petticoats as deftly and mysteriously as only Canadians can, set out in parties, escorted by their partners, and stepped briskly over the moon lit snow to their respective dwellings.
Bertie saw his party off in their sleigh, tenderly squeezing Bluebell's hand, who fell to his share, but did not return with them. Indeed, he was walking soon in quite an opposite direction, by the side of a shrouded figure in a rose-coloured cloud, out of which laughed the mischievous eyes of the second Miss Tremaine.
CHAPTER IX.
CROSS PURPOSES.
Are to the jealous confirmation strong
As proofs of holy writ.
Bluebell had not visited her mother for three weeks. One Saturday Freddy had a sore throat and would not let her out of his sight, keeping up an incessant demand for black-currant jelly and fairy tales, and the next week a heavy fall of snow made walking impossible. She now very often shared the gaieties of the others. Mrs. Rolleston took great interest in Bluebell's career. She thought it by no means improbable that Sir Timothy should have provided for her in his will, or, indeed, that he might any day acknowledge her; and though she took her out, and let her dance to her heart's content, kept faithful watch to prevent any undesirable flirtation.
So the kind-hearted lady was a good deal disturbed at seeing Jack Vavasour, who came of an extravagant and far from wealthy family, first in the field. After the manner of love-lorn subalterns, he haunted and persecuted the fair object of his affections, who cared nothing about him, and treated him as a child does its toys, sometimes pleased with them, and at others casting them indifferently aside.
And all the time Bertie was gaining greater influence over her. But even Cecil, whose eyes were keen, was never able to detect any evidence of a secret understanding between them.
He regularly asked her for one valse only when they went to balls; indeed, he could not do less. Cecil, of course, could not hear what they talked about then.
There is a dreamy, intoxicating valse of Gung'l's, which he always made her keep for him when it was played. It was a small piece of selfish romance, for well he knew that charmed air would ever hereafter be haunted with associations of him. How many more "stolen sweet moments" he found in the day must be left to the reader's imagination. But stolen they were; for Du Meresq knew Cecil's disposition, and was far from wishing to break with her, though "why should he spare this little girl with the chestnut hair, and the love in her deep-blue eyes?" And Bluebell no longer shrank from being underhand. It did not strike her in that light now. She thought of nothing but Bertie, who was so different before the others, that she learnt to look forward to their brief chances of being alone as much as he did. And Du Meresq, with ingenious sophistry, expatiated on the charm of keeping their delicious secret to themselves, uncommented on by the cold and unsympathetic.
Thus Bluebell, from being a lively, ingenuous, outspoken child, altered into a dreamy maiden, living a hidden life of repressed excitement, whose whole interest was the fugitive, uncertain interviews with Bertie, and an interchanged glance, touch of the hand, or few fond words, ventured on when the others were not attending.
"Bluebell," laughed Cecil, as a cutter drove to the door, "here is your Lubin again." The girls had just returned from the Rink, and were disrobing upstairs.
"Oh, he is so tiresome," said the other. "I declare I won't come down."
"That you must; we should never get rid of him; he would sit on waiting for you. You have made such a goose of him, Bluebell, and he used to be such fun."
"I shouldn't mind him if he was fun now; but he just sits glowering at one, and stays so long. Why can't a person see when he is not wanted?"
"But you do want him sometimes," said Cecil. "You are always 'off' and 'on' with poor Jack. I believe, if he proposed, you would say 'No' one day and retract the next."
They entered the drawing-room, where was young Vavasour, as usual, making conversation to Mrs. Rolleston, who was at once bored and disproving. Cecil shook hands pleasantly enough, but Bluebell, not even looking at him, extended a lifeless hand in passing, and, picking up some work, appeared absorbed in counting stitches.
Jack turned over in his own mind every possible cause of offence. He couldn't perceive that it was he himself that was not wanted, and that she cared not a button for anything he had done or left undone.
He talked on perseveringly with the others, glancing stealthily at Bluebell tatting, till Cecil got up to make tea, when he moved to a seat nearer.
"I wasn't out of uniform till four o'clock, Miss Leigh, or I should have been at the Rink."
"So I suppose. You always go there, don't you?"
"When I expect to meet any one," trying to throw a sentimental look in his generally laughing brown eyes.
"It isn't usually empty: but, of course, you don't go for the skating. You'll never make anything of that."
"Any more than you will be of driving," retorted Jack. "Shall you ever forget that crumpler down the bank? Dahlia hasn't recovered the fright yet."
"Stupid thing; what did she jump over for? I was nearly suffocated. I am sure there must have been a cast of me on the snow."
"It wasn't altogether unpleasant," said Jack. "We were covered up very snug and warm, like babes in the wood. I shouldn't mind doing it again in the same company."
"Shouldn't you?" said Bluebell, indignantly. "Then you may omit the company." And so they went on whispering, to Mrs. Rolleston's annoyance, till the Colonel's voice was heard bringing in a visitor—a lady of unfashionable appearance, chiefly remarkable for the variety of knitted articles, described in work-books as "winter comforts," displayed on her person.
"Ma tante!" ejaculated Jack, incautiously; "who is this old Quiz?"
"Here is Mrs. Leigh," said Colonel Rolleston, "who says she has not seen her daughter for three weeks. Where are you Bluebell?"
Jack felt ready to sink into the earth, while his boyish face became the colour of a peony; and Bluebell, vexed and hurt, advanced to the maternal embrace.
Their mutual confusion was so evident, that the Colonel put another interpretation on it, and remarked, in a tone the reverse of congratulatory,—"You have not been long getting out of harness, Vavasour."
Jack muttered something, and tried to catch Bluebell's eye, agonies of contrition in his own.
"Well, my dear, and how well you are looking," said Mrs. Leigh. "But we have missed you at home, Aunt Jane and I. No, thank you, Mrs. Rolleston; not at all tired. I caught the street-car at the corner, which brought me all the way for five cents. Very respectable people in it; only one soldier; he was not at all tipsy. I don't think your men ever are, Colonel. Thank you, Miss Rolleston," as Cecil brought her some tea. "I'll just unbutton my Sontag, or I shan't feel the good of it when I go out again, shall I?"
"I have been thinking," said Mrs. Rolleston, to whom it had just occurred that this would be a good break in Jack's attentions, "that it would be very nice if Bluebell went home for a few days, as you have seen so little of her."
"I'm sure I'm most grateful," said the little lady. "There, my dear, Aunt Jane was saying only yesterday how dull it was without the child. But are you sure she can be spared, Mrs. Rolleston?"
"Only to you," said the lady, kindly, but smiling a little, for certainly her duties were not very onerous.
Bluebell, an anxious listener, felt her heart sink at this proposal. What, go away and leave Bertie, whose daily presence had become a necessity to her! Besides, dreadful thought! his leave might be over ere she returned. In desperation she said, imploringly, "Mamma will not want me for more than a day or two," and gazed anxiously at Mrs. Rolleston, with a world of unspoken entreaty in her eyes.
The appeal was injudicious, only confirming her impression that it was a separation from Jack Bluebell dreaded, and she mentally put on another week to her banishment.
"There's no hurry," said the lady, decidedly; "a change will do you good. She shall walk over to-morrow, Mrs. Leigh; and I am very glad I thought of it."
Bluebell, thinking all was lost, tried not to show her dismay, which would have grieved her mother and done no good; but she remembered, with a sinking heart, that Du Meresq was to dine out that night, and she might get no opportunity of speaking to him alone before changing her quarters.
"I must be off home," said Mrs. Leigh. "Several little things to be done in your room, Bluebell. The stove-pipe has got choked at the elbow, and I must have the sweep in."
Her daughter longed to suggest that it might be more convenient to postpone her appearance for a day; but as Mrs. Rolleston said nothing, she could not either.
Jack, who had been all this time writhing with vexation at his mal-à-propos remark, here saw a chance of propitiating Bluebell and putting himself on visiting terms at her home.
"My cutter is at the door," said he, addressing Mrs. Rolleston. "If Mrs. Leigh will allow me, I shall be too happy to drive her home."
"Oh, he must be going to propose," thought the former lady, "and they won't have twopence between them;" but she could only reply,—
"Well, Mrs. Leigh, what do you say? Will you trust yourself to Mr. Vavasour?"
"I'm sure," said the little lady, flutteringly, "the gentleman is most kind; but I am so timid with horses unless they are quite old. Does your horse kick, sir?"
"Only if the rein gets under her tail."
"Ah, I should be sure to scream and snatch it—the reins, I mean, and they say that isn't safe driving. I had better walk; and yet it is getting dark, and I shall miss the car. What shall I do, Colonel Rolleston?"
"Drive, to be sure," said he, who wanted to get rid of them both. "Vavasour only upsets when he gives the reins to young ladies," with a glance at Bluebell.
"Well, I should like a ride in a sleigh, if my poor nerves will let me enjoy it," toddling to the door with Colonel Rolleston.
"I'll take the greatest care of you, Mrs. Leigh," said Jack, heartily, grateful for a re-assuring nod from Bluebell in recognition of his contrite gallantry. The mare, tired of waiting, became fidgety to be off.
"Oh, he is going to prance. Have you got good hold of his head, sir?" to the groom.
"Quite correct, 'm," grinned that official. "Quiet, 'Nancy,'" that being the stable version of "Banshee."
"Let her go," said Jack, who had just tucked Mrs. Leigh in. A couple of bounds, a smothering scream, and they disappeared in the evening gloom.
"That there old party ain't the guvener's usual form," meditated that bât-man, as he walked back, for the cutter only carried two. "He seems to set a deal of store by her, though. There's some young 'ooman at home, where she lives, I'd take my dying dick."
Cecil and her father, who had seen them off, stopped laughing together at Mrs. Leigh's peculiarities; and Bluebell, finding herself alone with Mrs. Rolleston, felt impelled to try if she could not curtail her sentence of banishment. Of course, her words were intended to conceal her thoughts—love's first lesson is always hypocrisy.
"I know I am not very much use here," she began, "but still I shouldn't like to think I was of none, and, therefore, I really don't want to stay away more than a day or two."
A sudden look of penetration came into Mrs. Rolleston's face, and, with more sarcasm in her voice than Bluebell's little speech appeared to justify, she said,—
"My dear, scrupulous child, we can get on without you longer than that, so you may, with a clear conscience, think of your mother, who is dull this dreadful weather."
Bluebell felt caught in a mesh and incapable of extricating herself, but she made no attempt to conceal her reluctance to going.
"How long must I stay away?" said she, dolefully.
"Just till the days get a little longer—a fortnight or three weeks, perhaps."
Bluebell made a gesture of despair (Bertie would be gone to a certainty by then), and looked the picture of misery. Mrs. Rolleston's suspicions were now convictions.
"My dear Bluebell," she began, impulsively, "I know there's some reason for your dislike to going," and she gazed fixedly at her. No denial. Bluebell hoped Mrs. Rolleston had some inkling of how things were with her and Bertie, and had she then persisted might easily have forced her confidence; which would have considerably enlightened and dismayed the elder lady, whose mind, being full of Jack, had never dreamed of Bertie.
Mrs. Rolleston, however, rapidly decided it would never do to encourage her to talk of the matter, and that she had better put her foot on it at once.
"I have guessed your little penchant, dear, for some one we won't talk about, for indeed, Bluebell, it never can come to any thing; you are both too young and too poor. It would be a most undesirable connexion."
"She doesn't think me grand enough for her brother," suggested Bluebell's wounded pride.
"And, therefore," pursued her Mentor, "absence is the best thing in these cases; and when you come back I trust you will have got rid of such hopeless fancies."
Bluebell was deeply mortified,—she lost all expectation of sympathy, and with a touch of pride, said,—"You must know best, Mrs. Rolleston, but I shall never care for any one else; and I must tell you honestly, I can't give it up if he doesn't."
"You will not see him at home?" said the elder lady, hastily. Such a gleam of hope irradiated Bluebell's face; she had never thought of that.
"Dear me, this is too bad!" continued the other, quite disheartened. "I shall take care you have no more opportunities of meeting here. Bluebell, do be warned. I only speak for your good."
"How self-interest deceives one," moralized the girl; "it is only because I am, as she says, 'a most undesirable connexion for her brother!'"
Cecil entered at this juncture, and Bluebell, hearing the Colonel's step also approaching, made a hasty escape from the room.
"What is the matter with her?" asked Cecil. "She brushed by me so suddenly, and looked so strange."
"Nearly knocked me over," said the Colonel, who had caught the last words.
"Don't notice it; I am afraid Bluebell has lost her heart to young Vavasour; and she is miserable at going home, because she thinks she will not see him."
"I am delighted you have put a stop to that folly," said the Colonel; "that boy dawdles over here every afternoon. I can't have Miss Bluebell's 'followers' everlastingly caterwauling in my house."
An expression of extreme astonishment came over Cecil's face.
"Bluebell doesn't care in the least for Jack Vavasour," said she.
"You are evidently not in her confidence. She told me 'she should never care for any one else'—her very words, the little goose."
Cecil seemed lost in perplexity. "And she doesn't want to go home?" asked she in a bewildered manner.
"Crying her eyes out at this moment I dare say."
"Then for goodness sake let her go home, and stay there till she is better," said the Colonel, irritably. "A love lorn young lady perpetually before me I cannot and will not endure."
His daughter's brow was knitted with thought. Bluebell was evidently in distress at going, but that it had any reference to Jack she totally disbelieved. A latent suspicion revived, and her face grew pained and hard. It was near dinner time, but, instead of going up to dress, she turned into a little smoking room to ponder it out. What motive could Bluebell have had to avow a perfectly fictitious love affair with Vavasour, unless it was to throw dust in Mrs. Rolleston's eyes and blind her to, perhaps, some underhand flirtation with Bertie? Cecil's affection for her friend received a severe wrench directly she admitted such a possibility, and then, as she meditated, two or three incidents, too slight to be noticed at the time, rose up to confirm it.
"Forewarned, forearmed, if that is your game, Miss Bluebell," thought she, resolving for the future to watch narrowly. At this moment Du Meresq, whistling 'Ah, che la morte,' burst into the room.
"Cecil here, all in the dark? Light a candle, there's a good girl, I want my cigar case. I'm awfully late".
"Who is the Leonore you are whistling addio to?" said she complying.
"I don't know, the air is running in my head."
"I thought it might be Bluebell, she is going to-morrow."
The match went out, so she could not see the expression of Bertie's face.
"How do you mean?" said he quietly.
"They think Lubin destructive to her peace of mind, so she is to go home for a fortnight. Singular idea, isn't it."
"Bosh!" said Du Meresq, emphatically. "Well, I'm off. Good-night, Cecil."